Hour of Need
by Kuroi Inanis
Summary: Following the defeat of the Kishin Asura, Kid's guilt at his inability to trust his father and his fear of being less than perfect finally catches up with him and begins to unravel the delicate thread of his sanity.
1. Prologue

**Hour of Need**

Prologue

A Soul Eater fanfiction

By KuroiInanis

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><p>Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater or any of the characters in the following fanfiction. However, the story idea itself is copyright 2011 to me.<p>

Wow! So for the first time in as long as I can remember, I don't have to put up a warning that this story will contain adult themes! Been awhile since I've written anything below an 'R' rating. Due to moderately strong language and somewhat adult themes, this fanfiction is deemed PG-13 (or T, for the sake of this website and its rating system) . Any and all critiques and suggestions are welcome; flames will be laughed at and promptly ignored.

This story is dedicated to Sojourney. Thank you for not only understanding my strange fascination with Kid and Shinigami-sama's father/son relationship, but also for putting your ideas in a tangible form for the world to read and understand.

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><p>"<strong>Obsessive–compulsive disorder<strong> (**OCD**) is an anxiety disorder characterized by intrusive thoughts that produce uneasiness, apprehension, fear, or worry, by repetitive behaviors aimed at reducing the associated anxiety, or by a combination of such obsessions and compulsions."

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><p><em>"I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do. The damage was too extensive."<em>

_ Death the Kid heard the words. He heard them clear as the ringing of church bells carried on a soundless wind to a place void of noise. For some reason, however, they would not register. As though a synapse somewhere in his brain had come loose, disconnected or unhinged, knocked out of whack in the battle against the Kichin Asura, point A traveled across the long expansion of line A, only to fall short of point B at that last crucial moment. _

_ What surprised him was that there was no blood. Somewhere beneath that long robe his father had worn for as long as anyone could remember, Kid had always assumed that there was a body that looked strikingly similar to his own. An older body, of course, but one that had provided the molding for his own features. Shinigami-sama was his father. Death the Kid was his son. They had to look similar. And even though they weren't human, Kid knew that he bled. Be it in the heat of battle or over something as simple as tearing the paper his test was written on, Kid KNEW that he bled. So how could something that had to look so similar to himself, so close to human, not bleed when attacked as violently as his father had been? _

_ "You fought a long, hard battle today. The academy is proud of you. Your father is proud of you, even if he can't say it himself. Now you need to take the time to take care of yourself. Report to the infirmary to have yourself looked over. After that, you best get some sleep." _

_ It didn't compute. Nothing computed. The balance was off. The symmetry was off. Kid's hand flexed nervously at his side. His eyes darted only briefly away from the crumpled form of his father on the ground before returning to it instantly. _

_ It was only in this moment that he realized something – though his father had never been a symmetrical being, that was something that had never bothered Kid. In all the years spent rearranging libraries, spice racks, paintings and pictures, literally almost everything that did not fit his notion of perfection, it had never crossed the threshold of Kid's OCD-infected mind to even mention to his father that he was an asymmetrical being. Kid wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because that was just something else that made them so similar. Maybe it was because in the end, symmetry really didn't matter as much as he had always thought it did. Maybe it was because Shinigami-sama was his father and he had always known him the way he was._

_ Or maybe it was because his father had always loved **him** for who he was, even with the strange 'quirk' that he knew drove everyone else insane at times, but Shinigami-sama refused to let anyone question, criticize, or attempt to alter. Kid was just as flawed as every single person and thing he ever judged, and he had always known that; it was his father who had refused to let him be crushed by the harsh reality of his own hypocrisy. _

_ "Kid, did you hear me?"_

_ His father's perfect asymmetrical form was destroyed. It lay in pieces in front of Kid, the mask cracked, the cloak torn and drifting directionless in the slight breeze that blew through the Death Room. The asymmetricalism was asymmetrical, and that made the symmetry wrong. _

_ "… I have to fix it…" _

_ He wasn't sure if the words were merely a thought that crossed his mind, or an actual statement that slipped past his lips, but it felt like they were given birth only after he had dropped to his knees in the rubble, reaching out to the still form and starting to smooth out the wrinkles in the tattered, stained cloak. He looked around for the missing pieces of the puzzle that was his father, crawling away from his lifeless form and making one hand into a cup as he started to gather up shards of the broken mask. _

_ "Kid, stop."_

_ "No. I have to fix him. I can't let him look like this. What kind of son would send his father off to rest in peace looking anything less than perfect?" _

_ "You should have trusted your father when you had the chance. There is nothing you can do for him now. You have to let this go."_

_ "No! I can't! Don't you understand that I can't? The world is made up of checks and balances, Professor! Checks and balances and symmetry! There is an order for everything and everything must be in order! I can't leave him looking like this, I just can't!" _

_ There was hysteria in his voice, a hysteria that was different than all the times he had ever experienced an OCD-induced breakdown before. Those had been the self-hating ramblings of an almost-insane child with a mental disorder. Now… this was different. This was personal business. This was some semblance of the reality that had been shattered so suddenly. He hadn't been able to help. He hadn't been able to stop what had happened. Kid had been merely the bargaining tool, the ace in the hole, the pawn in Asura's game. Even the Kishin's defeat would mean nothing if he could not lay the bones of the dead to rest properly. This was a family matter._

_ There were hands on his arms, on his shoulders, around his torso, and he fought blindly as he felt himself forcefully lifted from his father's corpse, his arms and legs flailing defiantly against the hands that dragged him away. His vision blurred against a riptide of tears and his screams gargled in his own spit in the back of his throat. Beneath his captors the ground shook, a product of his fury and anguish given tangible form. _

_ "I have to make things right!"_

_ "It's too late for that now, Kid." _

_ Stein had never been a man good at comforting others. That was common knowledge. But there seemed to be something even colder and more distant than usual in them man's tone as he pinned Kid to the ground and tore the right sleeves of both his jacket and dress shirt off in one motion. He felt the sting of a needle prick and the burn of liquid entering his bloodstream before his brain could fully comprehend that Stein was sedating him. _

_ "… what…"_

_ "I didn't want to have to do this, Kid. But things need to be put back in some form of order and control, and right now you're doing much more harm than you are good. You need medical attention and some sleep."_

_ His vision narrowed down, obscured and distorted itself into a pinprick of light. _

_ "… please… I'm sorry… please let me stay and help…"_

_ "Later, Kid. You're no good to anyone right now." _

_ Gravity shifted and the world tipped and swayed under him. He shifted his eyes, taking in the sights of rubble and chaos that littered the Death Room. Everything went in and out of focus and Kid groaned, struggling against the sedative to maintain some form of consciousness. As Stein walked past one of the many mirrors that served as a portal to anywhere in Death City, Kid's vision grasped on to a rare moment of clarity and he could see his own reflection with striking perfection. His body, battered and beaten from the fight against Asura, hung like a rag doll over Stein's massive shoulder, and in comparison to his teacher, he looked even smaller than usual. _

_ '… three lines… three perfect, symmetrical lines…'_

_ The lines of Sanzu were three complete halos wrapped around the mess that was his hair. Death the Kid had finally obtained the perfect symmetry he had always wanted._

_ Yet, for some reason, he felt nothing but completely imbalanced._

_ The darkness came again, a rolling wave that washed over his reflection. This time he closed his eyes and did not fight it as it pulled him under and his thoughts drown in his grief._

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><p>Somewhere in the heart of Gallows Manor, the silence of the night was shattered by the rough, choked gasp of the next Grim Reaper as he sat razor-straight upright in bed, his hands trembling in his lap and tears streaming down his face. His bedside lamp cut through the darkness as he switched it on, and there was the scuffle of his feet against the carpet as he crossed the room to his closet.<p>

Fifteen minutes later his clothes were changed, the bed was stripped, and a load of laundry was washing while the Little Reaper occupied himself with the comforting, rhythmic motions of cleaning that had served to soothe his abnormal psyche for so long.

TBC


	2. Chapter 1

**Hour of Need**

**A Soul Eater Fanfiction**

Disclaimer, just in case you missed it the first time: I don't own Soul Eater or any of the characters in the following fanfiction. However, the story idea is copyright 2011 to me.

Rated PG-13 for dark themes and light cursing.

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><p><strong>Chapter 01<strong>

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><p>"Kid, what are you doing?"<p>

Finding Kid up and awake at all hours of the night was not an abnormal occurrence. Over time the other inhabitants of Gallows Manor had become more than adjusted to the workings of the next Grim Reaper's mind, and the clicking and clacking of spice jars being readjusted or the dull thud of books being stacked had become as common and as comforting as the ticking of the clock in the hallway.

What was abnormal, however, was the increased frequency with which these compulsive needs were coming up and the amount of time and effort that was going into quelling them. This was the third night in a row in which Liz had awoken for a glass of water, only to find Kid in the kitchen, scrubbing the spotless floor in a pin-prick size spot with an almost frightening intensity. His eyebrows were knitted together, his tongue poking out of the left side of his mouth, his bony shoulders jutting up through his black pajama top and the muscles tensing and releasing as he pushed the wire scrub brush back and forth in a swift, rhythmic motion.

"I can't get this spot to come up off the floor. I've been trying for days, but it won't come up…"

The tone of his voice was abnormal as well. While he was always prone to a tinge of panic or frustration when he was in one of his cycles, the last few days had given rise to a near hysteria and a slight lack of focus in his golden orbs that Liz found unsettling. He was paler than usual as well, and while it was not out of the norm for what little color his skin did possess to take a few days coming back after an exceptionally hard battle, it had not escaped her notice that he had eaten very little and slept even less. Liz had her own theories that the battle against Asura had taken a much deeper emotional toll on her meister than he was willing to admit, but Kid had been closed off and hard to reach since that battle only a few days prior, and she had no clue how to go about bridging this sudden gap. She had contemplated going to Shinigami with her concerns, but feared that doing so would yield more problems than results. Kid was nothing if not a prideful teenager, and above all else he valued the approval and praise of his father. Anything that he felt could be viewed as a failure or flaw in his father's eyes was an abomination of the worst kind, and he avoided such instances at all costs. While Shinigami had never outright criticized his son's obsessive-compulsive behaviors, at least not in front of Kid or his weapons, there were looks he would give or actions he would take that spoke louder than words. Those were the moments hardest for Kid, and thusly they were the moments he took the steps to avoid. Over time he had been careful to hide his compulsive issues from his father, performing them late in the night when the rest of the house assumed he was sleeping and Shinigami was disposed of in the Death Room. In Kid's mind, if his father couldn't see it, it didn't happen, and therefore it was a failure that was to some degree manageable. Liz knew how his mind operated, at least somewhat, and to bring his father into the mix would be a betrayal of the worst kind.

So she had come to handle the issues herself, coaxing Kid away from whatever had unhinged his troubled mind, prying the cleaning cloth from his fingers or shooing him away from the dishes so she could finish what he started and he could go to bed and get a precious few hours of sleep before school. In the past it had always worked, even if it took her some time to make him come around (and if worse came to worse, Patty would step in and handle the issue in her own "special way"). Lately, however, nothing seemed to be breaking him out of his cycles and Liz feared that his mental state was too shaken to handle an assault from Patty's methods of persuasion. That left her helpless, able only to watch as her meister and best friend suffered in a silence of his own making with no way to fix what she didn't even know to be broken.

"Kid… it's late. You need to sleep, we have a test tomorrow. Let's worry about the spot later."

"Not yet. Soon. I just need to finish what I started. I just need to do something right. I'm sure, any moment now, that it'll come up and everything will be fine. I can't let the house stand in such shambles, what would Father think? He would see me for the bad son I am, the bad son I have always been but he's always been so blind to it…"

That was something else that was disturbing to Liz. Kid had been prone to fits of self-deprecation ever since she had met him, but they were usually isolated to points at which there was something asymmetrical that overloaded his thought process. She had never taken them seriously because they had never occurred during a time that warranted concern. Now that fact had changed; suddenly Kid could do nothing but put himself down, no matter the reason or the setting. Over morning breakfast he would mutter about his lack of worth, how he wasn't fit to be the son of such a great reaper, but always to himself in a hushed tone so that Liz could barely hear him and Patty paid him no mind. In class his mind would wander and his lips would move soundlessly as a film of tears glazed over his bloodshot eyes. Liz didn't need to hear the words to know they were nothing good.

Something was very, very wrong, and Liz had no clue how to go about fixing it.

She found herself down on her knees on the floor next to him, her hands reaching out to gingerly take hold of his shoulders. He had definitely lost weight recently; his arms felt like brittle sticks with a thin mesh of flesh stretched over them, and she could hear the faint popping of his shoulders as he continued with his obsessive scrubbing, seeming to ignore her presence at his side.

"Your father is more than proud of you for the things you've accomplished. He wouldn't want you to sit up all night obsessing over a spot on the floor when you have school tomorrow and you need to sleep. Why don't you go lay down and I'll handle the spot on the floor? Your shoulders could use a rest."

"Go back to bed, Liz. I have it handled."

But he didn't have it handled, and they both knew it. He didn't have the imagined spot on the floor handled, or the sleepless nights handled, or whatever the Hell it was that was making him act like this handled. Something, somewhere, had slipped, and Kid either didn't realize it or was attempting to pretend like the issue didn't exist by burying it under the tedious motions of compulsive cleaning. Liz sighed and shook her head, reluctant to let him go but unsure how much good it would do to keep holding onto him. She was nowhere near physically strong enough to force him away from his self-appointed task, even with Kid in this weakened state.

"Thirty more minutes. If it hasn't come up in thirty more minutes, I want you to call it a night and go to bed. Otherwise I'll get Patty out here to convince you. Understood?"

He paused only briefly in his work, but she didn't miss the little shudder that quaked his body in response to the threat.

"Fine. Go back to bed."

It wasn't a good enough compromise, but it was going to have to do. Liz retrieved her glass of water, said goodnight to him when she reached the doorway, and waited for nearly a minute before giving up on a response and ascending the stairs to bed.

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><p>"Liz, is something wrong with Kid? He looks terrible."<p>

"He didn't sleep well last night."

"You mean he didn't sleep at all last night."

Liz glanced over at Tsubaki and sighed, nodding her head. She hadn't been surprised when she had come downstairs this morning, a half-awake Patty in tow, to make breakfast only to find Kid still on his knees on the kitchen floor. His slumped posture had spoken of both exhaustion and defeat, and it had been almost too easy to pull him to his feet and walk him upstairs to his room, where she had ordered him to take a shower and get dressed for school. While he was getting ready she had carefully examined the floor, looking for the spot of imperfection that had weighed so heavily on his mind the past three nights, and was troubled to discover that there was nothing there. The floor was polished, spotless, the tiles all the same shade of burgundy red without a single blemish in sight. She had checked twice to be sure. _There was nothing there._

Kid had appeared on time, refused breakfast, and taken up his usual position exactly two steps ahead of them on their walk to class. As if he had slipped on a mask, there was no trace of just how hard last night had been save for the deep bags under his eyes and the pale tone of his skin. It could be passed off as a restless night, nothing more, to those who did not know him as intimately as Liz did. This, unfortunately for her and fortunately for him, was nearly everyone else in the school.

"How many sleepless nights has he had?"

Tsubaki kept her voice low and hushed so as not to attract the attention of anyone else around them, though Liz was not concerned about being overheard. Black*Star was too wrapped up in himself to pay any mind to anything that didn't pertain to him, Patty was absorbed in converting her textbook into an origami elephant, and Kid's eyes were glazed and distant, far away from the school and in a world of his own making.

"Every night since the fight against Asura has been a sleepless one. He hasn't eaten much, either."

"It's starting to show."

Liz shifted uncomfortably in her seat, glancing at her meister and then back at Tsubaki.

"… what do you mean?"

"We finished our test two hours ago, and if I'm not mistaken, that packet of papers sitting in front of him is his exam. Which he hasn't even attempted to put his name on, let alone complete. I don't think he's even moved from that position since you guys arrived."

Tsubaki was right and Liz knew it. She also knew that out of all the people that could have noticed Kid's change in attitude, she was most thankful that it was Black*Star's quiet, respectful weapon. Her concern was endearing, but she was intelligent and respectful enough to know that any attempt at intervention would not be a wise idea. Liz could (and would) tell her to leave it well enough alone, and Tsubaki would respect her request. What was warrant for distress was that it was now only a matter of time before Kid's strange behavior caught the attention of someone who wouldn't understand the way his mind operated and they would attempt to fix things themselves. Undoubtedly Professor Stein would find Kid's lack of a submitted exam suspicious, and Liz already found herself dreading the inevitable conversation that would arise between Kid and his father as a result.

"… Kid's going through a rough spell right now. That Kishin attack really messed him up. I think he just needs a little time to cope with everything that happened and to sleep off the last of his injures. I've got it handled, and I'm sure in the next few days he'll be back to his usual self."

Making light of the situation would have eased the mind of anyone in the class save for Tsubaki. The soft-spoken weapon cocked an eyebrow and shook her head, but took the unspoken plea for her silence for what it was and turned back to face the head of the classroom.

"For his sake, I hope you're right."

When the class bell rang to signal that the day was over, Kid was still sitting in the same position as he had been when the day had begun. It took Liz nearly twenty minutes to get him to respond to her calling his name, and another ten to pull his stiffened form out of his chair. He appeared lucid and zombie-like as she led him towards the door, and when he pulled away from her, it was so he could step up to the chalkboard, his hand already reaching inside his pocket for the cleaning cloth she knew he kept close at all times.

'Oh no…'

"You two go on home without me. I just need to take care of something here first."

He raised his arm and began to rub at the pristine black surface with the cloth, moving in slow, meticulous circles. Liz and Patty exchanged a glance and the younger of the two sisters reached up to grab her elder's shoulder, pulling her head down to whisper in her ear.

"What's he cleaning, sis? There's nothing there."

_There's nothing there. There was nothing there on the floor, either._

"I don't know, Patty. Maybe he sees something we don't."

She didn't want to leave him here. There was a sinking feeling in her gut that if she did, they would come back the next morning to find him still in the same spot, scrubbing at the same non-existent flaw, looking even more pale and brittle than he did in this moment.

"Kid, let us help. It'll go faster if we all three work on it."

"Go home."

"Kid, please…"

"GO. HOME."

He had not raised his voice, but he hadn't needed to. The intensity in his words came from his tone, not his volume, and there was no mistaking that it was a demand, not a request. They were neither wanted nor needed in this moment. Liz swallowed the lump that had jumped into her throat as she put her arm around Patty's shoulders, shushing her sister as she opened her mouth to give what was undoubtedly a snippy comeback.

"Come on. I'll make spaghetti for dinner."

The distraction worked and Patty nodded brightly, her wounded pride forgotten as she bounded out the door. Liz paid Kid one last glance, shook her head, and followed after her sister in silence.

TBC


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 02  
><strong>

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><p>There had always been something in the rhythmic motion of cleaning that had eased the restlessness of his troubled mind. Kid couldn't explain it, but after fifteen years of living with his brain functioning in the strange way it did, he found that nothing was more soothing than the mind-numbing repetitive task of setting what was wrong right. There was a direct correlation between the number of hours he spent obsessing over cleaning and just how troubled his thoughts were. Of course, that was a fact he would never admit to anyone – the son of Shinigami could afford to show no moment of weakness, not even to those he was closest to. If anything, those he was closest to posed the deepest threat of all. If word got back to his father that things were less than perfect…<p>

_But things weren't less than perfect. Everything was _fine and there was _nothing wrong nothing at all because nothing could be wrong Death the Kid had to be perfect KidhadtobeperfectKid –_

" – Kid? Kid, look at me."

Kid blinked once, twice, and then glanced over at the familiar voice that called his name.

Professor Stein stood before him, the dim lights of the classroom catching the lenses of his glasses and casting a reflective cover over his eyes. A lit cigarette dangled from his lips, and the smell of smoke made Kid's nose crinkle in disgust. He had always hated that habit, but as per the norm had always been a respectful enough person to bite his tongue when it came to addressing an individual his father held in high regard.

"Is there something I can help you with, Professor?"

"What are you doing, Kid?"

"I'm cleaning the chalkboard. It was flawed."

_I am flawed._

"Kid, we haven't used the chalkboard in weeks. Since the last time you cleaned it. There was nothing wrong with it."

Kid answered him with a blank stare before he returned his attention to the board, his arm still raised, his movements halted. He opened his mouth to reply, paused, and then slowly closed it.

"Is there something bothering you? You've been… distant over the last few days. Definitely not your usual neurotic self."

Stein paused as Kid's expression became entirely unreadable. In the past few months he had spent having Shinigami's son in his classroom, Stein had learned what pushed the young reaper's buttons and what reactions those buttons would invoke. If there was one thing that got Kid going faster than just about anything else, it was when someone pointed out the boy's eccentric personality to him. Even though he was nowhere near oblivious to his… quirk (Stein would outright call it a disorder if he didn't fear a Reaper Chop of life-ending proportions)… it was still a deep source of embarrassment for the young Reaper, and one he was quick to become defensive over if he was called out on it.

For several moments all was quiet, and those moments ticked slowly into a minute, then into two. Stein watched as Kid's arm started to move again, slowly, following the familiar figure-eight pattern, even as his gaze remained fixated on Stein's face, gazing past him and into a place no one else could reach.

So the scientist's hunch had been correct after all. Something _was_ bothering Kid, something deep enough that it had overridden his usual automatic defensive response to being called out on his psychosis. There was no joy that came with the success of this experiment; to the contrary, Stein found himself wishing for once that his hypothesis had been proven wrong.

When it became apparent that there would be no verbal response, Stein stepped forward and placed his hand over Kid's, forcing the reflexive motion to halt yet again.

"Would you like to explain to me why you didn't turn in your exam today? It's never a surprise to get a partially completely test from you, since you insist on spending so much effort on writing your name, but the entire sheet was blank. You didn't even pass the blank work in – I had to retrieve it from your desk."

As if to drive his point home Stein held up the blank packet of papers for Kid to see, shifting his hold on the young Reaper's hand to instead hold him at the wrist. There was no resistance as he pulled the boy away from the chalkboard and walked him over to the nearest seat, sitting him down and tossing the test on the desk in front of him.

"Explain, Kid. And make it good."

The future Reaper sat before him in the chair he had been placed in, thin wisps of bangs falling to hide his eyes, his bony shoulders jutting up to sit parallel with his ears, making the already-short, lithe boy look even more childlike and small than he already did. There was something about the utter _fragility_ of this moment, of Death the Kid himself in this moment, that sent a ripple of icy chills through Stein's body.

"… I haven't really been able to focus as of late, Professor. I apologize. I'm ready to take any punishment my negligence has warranted."

The tone of his voice was just as delicate as his appearance, and any thoughts of reprimand that might have been entertained in Stein's mind were instantly banished. The boy had just fought the single most dangerous Kishin in history only three days prior, and had done so mere minutes after witnessing his father take a nearly-fatal injury to save his son's life. He hadn't been in the Death Room himself when the fight had occurred, but Spirit had been more than forthcoming with the details while Stein had hooked Shinigami up to an IV line and carefully looked over his wounds, and his former Weapon's account of Kid's reaction had been one that had wretched at the few heartstrings Stein had left.

_His father's near-fatal injury, all to save his young son's life…_

Something clicked into place. As though the final piece of the puzzle had magically founds its own way to where it belonged, the full picture came into a startling view in Stein's mind. He closed his eyes and instinctively reached up to twist at the large screw imbedded in his skull, once, twice, three times until it ground to a halt and he felt stable once more.

"I understand. You have had a hard few days. I'll tell you what. I'll let you take the test now. Don't worry about putting your name on it – I'll do that for you. Just focus on the questions themselves. You'll have ninety minutes, the same amount of time that your classmates had today."

A pensive look tinged with confusion crossed over Kid's face, and he lifted his head to glance up at his Professor briefly.

"But… the Academy's rules are very specific. No retests and no make-up exams."

"I'm making an exception for you, given the circumstances. I would do the same if it were any of the other students who just took on the world's most powerful Kishin. Rules may be rules, but they are not unbendable when the situation deems needed."

Stein reached into the internal pocket of his lab coat, producing a pen and handing it to Kid.

"Your time starts now."

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><p>"Hey there, Stein! How ya doin'? What's up, how's life? You know you're not supposed to enter the Death Room without permission, or at least asking first, so I'm betting something is really bothering you. Come sit and have some tea and we'll talk about it."<p>

Years of attending Shibusen as a student and spending all of his adult life serving Shinigami in one respect or another had given Stein a will of steel. He was able to suppress the urge to twitch his eyebrow in annoyance at Shinigami's over-exuberant tone as he crossed the room and sat at the small tea table set up in the corner by the mirror. He accepted the cup of tea the Reaper set in his hands and gave a nod of thanks, taking a few sips of the steaming liquid before reaching into his lab coat and extracting Kid's test.

"I came to talk to you about your son."

Shinigami cocked his head in his token 'I'm confused' expression, but he kept uncharacteristically silent and Stein took the reaction as an indication to continue.

"He's been acting… odd over the last few days. Distant, disconnected, almost unresponsive. Today, he didn't take his test. It wasn't a matter of taking too long to write his name, or obsessing over some typo on the paper – he flat out didn't turn it in. He just sat there all through class staring into space with the paper sitting in front of him. I gave him the chance to take it after class, seeing as how he's had a hard last few days following the fight against the Kishin. This is what he turned in to me."

Shinigami's large hands reached out for the offered papers and he looked through them slowly, his oval eyes finally lifting to look at Stein.

"He answered every question with an '8'."

"Yes. And that took him nearly ninety minutes to do. He kept stopping to mutter to himself and pull at his hair. I've never seen Kid look so disheveled or distraught before, and we both know I've seen him in some bad states of mind over the last several years. I know he knows the material the test covered. I know he can do much better than this, but his focus is so shot right now that it's cause for concern. And he looks terrible, like he hasn't slept or eaten in several days."

Shinigami couldn't help but to cringe at the flair of guilt that made itself acutely known in his chest, in that little pocket just below his heart. He knew the battle against Asura had taken both a deep physical and emotional toll on his son; Kid had been able only to confirm that his father was alive before he collapsed mere moments after returning to the Death Room following the battle's conclusion, and Shinigami had had him rushed to the dispensary for a complete check-up. There had been a few cracked ribs that had initially been breaks and several bruises and lacerations, but his Reaper body had always healed itself quickly and Stein was confident that the lingering signs of combat would vanish within a few days. Against the advice of everyone at Shibusen, Shinigami had taken up silent vigilance at his son's bedside, holding Kid's slender hand in his own large, awkward one and stroking his bangs from his pale face when his son's soul squirmed in restless disquiet and he whimpered in his sleep. Shinigami's own wounds could wait; Kid was the most important thing in his world and he needed time to reestablish that his child was safe and secure. This call had been way too close.

Kid had slept for several hours, and when he awoke he was groggy and stiff and more than aware of the limitations set by his injuries. Evan at that point Shinigami had noticed something off in his son's behavior. He was quieter and even more proper in his speech and tone than usual, and a pulsating sensation akin to shame had rippled in heavy waves across the surface of his soul. Shinigami had wanted to question it, to push and prod at his son until he dropped that wall he had constructed around himself so many years ago and he confided what was troubling him so deeply. But he was at a loss on how to address this unsettling change in his son, and Shinigami had revered back to his usual jovial self, patting Kid on the head and popping off with some stupid remark that served to belly all the things he really wanted to express. He vowed that instead he would keep a close eye on Kid's soul wavelength over the next few days, just to ensure that his son really was okay, but he had become so wrapped up in all the work needing done following the destruction of Asura that his self-appointed task had fallen to the wayside. As so many others who knew Kid had also done, he had allowed his son's maturity and adult mannerisms to overshadow the fact that in the end his child was still just that – a child. Though far advanced beyond his years, Kid was still a boy in many respects, and his mental state was far more delicate than most realized. Hiding beneath that cool, confident, nearly pompous exterior was a teenager who wanted to please his father more than anything else in the world. He was a boy who was secretly self-conscious and insecure, and he would do everything he could to hide that fact. But Kid had insisted on taking care of himself for so long that it had been too easy for Shinigami to let him do so, even when he knew his son needed him.

Right now, Kid needed his father. Whether or not he could ever bring himself to admit it.

"Shinigami-sama?"

He had let the silence linger a bit too long and Stein was now staring at him questioningly, his tea cup empty and cradled in his hands. Shinigami poured his guest another helping of the amber liquid and took a sip from his own neglected cup before settling back in his seat, sighing quietly.

"I had a feeling something was wrong, but we've just been so busy as of late, what with Asura's defeat and all. And Kid has always been so independent… I would suppose it doesn't help that I blindly assumed that Liz would say something if the situation became too unstable."

"Perhaps she just didn't notice."

"Liz keeps a close eye on Kid at all times, even if she doesn't realize it. In time they will both come to realize how they feel. For now, however, I simply must keep in mind that her loyalty lies with him unwaveringly. If he doesn't want her to let me know, then she won't."

"That's annoying, to say the least."

"No, that's endearing. And relieving. It shows her dedication to my son. It's comforting to know he has someone like her at his side."

"Well, regardless of that fact, it doesn't change that something is wrong and something must be done about it."

Shinigami nodded, setting down his tea and rising from his seat, turning away from Stein to look at his own reflection in his mirror.

"Indeed. I've spent far too long being a Reaper. It's time to correct that."

He saw Stein's reflecting blink as a rare expression of confusion passed over his face.

"I don't understand."

"Stein, I'll need you to take the night shift tonight. Marie can fill in for your teaching duties tomorrow. Tonight, I need to go home and take care of my son."

TBC


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 03**

* * *

><p>He was tired.<p>

Truth be told, he was more than tired – exhausted might have been a closer and more suiting terminology, though it still felt as though it didn't quite define the sensation that he was carrying the world on his shoulders and the shackles of Hell on his ankles.

There was only the sound of his loafers scraping against the cobblestones street as he dragged himself slowly through Death City, his brain set to autopilot and forcing his body towards Gallows Manor. The sun was setting rapidly, fighting the sleep that was an inevitability, and the air was growing chilly and damp in indication that summer was moving into fall. He took notice of none of it, though somewhere in the back of his head his mind began to complain that his body was cold, birthing goose bumps on his pale flesh and tinting his lips and fingertips a strange shade of purplish-blue. Usually his Reaper body was not affected by such mild climate changes, at least not to the extent that a human's was, but nothing had been the way it used to be since the fight with Asura, and Kid was aware that this change was a direct result of his recent inability to eat or sleep. When he didn't take care of himself properly, things started to break down. By now his cracked ribs should be healed, but the steady, constant throbbing in his side had neither abated nor vanished over the past three days, and it was starting to become both an annoying sensation and a worrisome one. Kid could mention it to Professor Stein, but it was easier on his pride to just ignore the problem and wait for when it would eventually go away on its own than to admit that something may be wrong.

_Have to be perfect everything has to be perfect nothing can be wrong nothingcanbewrongwithme yet everything is wrongwithme…_

It felt as though it had been a millennia since his thoughts had been clear. Sleep had been bringing reoccurring nightmares of the moments before the fight with Asura – in crystal-clear slow motion he relived his father's attack, an attack that could have been prevented had he stepped up and played his expected role as the son of Shinigami in the one instance in which it counted most. The only dreams more horrifying than a replay of his father's fall were the ones that focused on the conclusion of his battle against the Kishin. In those nightmares, Shinigami had not survived and Kid was left too young and too inexperienced to take up his birth-granted position, letting down not only all of Death City and the world, but most importantly the memory of his father. Each night found him waking in a cold sweat, his clothing clinging to his lithe form and the bed sheets saturated in sweat. It was always right after waking that his mind was most muddled and he would struggle to break out of the fog of confusion, fear and sorrow, finding moments of rebalance only in the methodical motions of cleaning that had served as salve for his troubled mind for so many years.

But even that was failing him now. Like a drug too long used to treat every sniffle and cough, cleaning was no longer an effective means of diverting his attention. To the contrary, it seemed that it was easiest for his thoughts to wander back to that day when he was in the middle of scrubbing the floor, or reorganizing the books, or performing any rhythmic, repetitive task. Perhaps it was simply that his mind had become so fixated on this single occurrence that the cycle could not be broken, no matter the attempted method. Perhaps it was that this could all be fixed if he simply went to his father, or Liz, or Stein, or ANYONE, and simply gave voice to his anxieties and the guilt that weighed so heavily on his young mind.

However, it had never been in his nature to express his feelings. It was one thing to go on an OCD-induced rant about something that was not perfectly symmetrical, or to exhibit some random display of coughing up blood after tearing his test paper… it was another thing entirely to admit that he was scared, or weak, or imperfect. Especially to his father.

He couldn't even bring himself to express how he felt to the one person he trusted most. It was even worse that he even had issues in the first place. Some Grim Reaper he was.

By the time he had reached the grounds of Gallows Manor and was ascending the stairs, he had unconsciously wrapped his thin arms around his thin body, a futile attempt at warding off the violent shivers that tore through his frame.

"Kid? Kid, is that you?"

Liz's voice broke through the silence in his head he hadn't even realized had come to dominate, and he lifted his eyes from where they focused on his shoes to see her running down the steps to meet him, a blanket in her hands.

"Kid, you look terrible! And you're freezing! How long have you been out here?"

He wanted to reply. Somewhere in his frozen mind he felt bad for the way he had treated her early; her and Patty both. His lips moved, but nothing came out but some pathetic sound that resembled a whine fused with a whimper. He felt the blanket come to drape over his shoulders, felt her tuck it around him to keep in what little body heat he had left, and he didn't resist as she took his arm and helped him up the remaining stairs. She was saying something else, but there was a strange buzzing in his ears, born at the base of his skull, and he nodded wordlessly, hoping it was the correct answer for whatever she was saying.

The lights of Gallows Manor were intensely bright, nearly too bright for him to handle, and he dropped his eyelids down so his eyes were only twin golden slits, dipping his head down to stare at his shoes. He was walking strange… there was an odd dragging in his step, almost as though it took too much effort to lift his feet off the ground.

_Scrape, scrape, squeak. Scrape, scrape, squeak. Such an annoying noise. _

She hurried him past the kitchen, where he could hear Patty clanging dishes; whether she was actually cooking something or simply making noise to make noise was anyone's guess. As they moved past the dining room he did not miss the sight of three dishes set up for dinner, his favorite plate and glass in his usual spot at the table. Another twinge of guilt, deeper and more painful than the last, resonated through his chest. Even after the way he had treated them… even after the way he had been acting for days now… they still thought of him. They still expected him home. He was still family, and they forgave him his sins because they loved him.

This realization almost caused him to break. The tears sprang into his eyes and for one moment Kid contemplated letting them take over. There was suddenly a name to give to that horrible, exhausting, crushing sensation that had constricted his muscles over the last several days and made him feel restless and half-coherent. It would be so easy, nearly too easy, to give in to it now; to accept that there really was something bothering him, something far more detrimental and uncontrollable than the neuroticism he had lived with all his life.

But that meant his Reaper pride would have to take a back seat to his emotions. And that was something Kid just couldn't tolerate. He was a Reaper before he was ever anything else.

Somehow they ended up in the private bathroom attached to his bedroom. His eyes and mind came back into the now-familiar partial focus as Liz set him down on the closet toilet lid and placed a towel in his hands, pointing wordlessly at the shower and then indicating with a motion of her hand that afterwards she wanted him to come downstairs for dinner. He took the command for what it was and nodded softly, feeling that if he couldn't vocalize how sorry he was for the way he had acted, he could at least let her tell him what to do when it was obvious she was right. She eyed him up and down for a moment, and he cast his gaze towards the floor in an effort to dispel the awkward feeling her look gave him. It felt as though the thick tension between them lasted forever, though Kid attributed that sensation to the fact that time itself had been altered by his recent mental state over the last few days. Time seemed to either creep by or fly by, but it never moved the way he knew it was supposed to.

When finally the sound of her boots clicking against the tile floor stopped echoing in his head and he was aware of being truly alone, Kid rose from where he was sitting and began to strip his clothes off. His jacket felt much too large as it slid off his thin arms, and he took the careful measures to fold it and sit it on the counter by the sink. His damaged ribs ached as he shrugged out of his white dress shirt and repeated the motion of folding it, laying it carefully atop the jacket. It was with the careful, methodic, familiar movements he had practiced for years that he shed the rest of his clothes and placed them aside before he stepped up to the tub, reaching out for the knobs. Four twists for the hot water, four twists for the cold water. The perfect number combination yielded the perfect temperature.

For the first time in days, a weak smile slipped across his face as he stepped under the flow, closing his eyes and letting the water rush through his hair and down his face. The performance of such a simple, familiar act was comforting, and the clarity and focus that had been lacking started to come back as he reached out and found the shampoo bottle, squeezing a small gob of it into his hand and rubbing it into his short hair.

_Yes… balance. Balanced, just as things should be. A place for everything, and everything in its place. A rhythm, a beat, an in-time step. Air moves in and out of my lungs, in and out, in and out. My heart beats in my chest, one, two, three, four. Nothing is wrong. There is nothing wrong. Everything is fine. _

And for the first time in as long as he could remember, Kid was able to believe his own comforting thoughts.

* * *

><p>"Liz, Kid's been in the shower a really long time…"<p>

She had to restrain the natural urge to wince when Patty voiced exactly what she had been thinking for the last hour and a half. Though her Meister had been nearly incoherent when she had sat him down in the bathroom and wordlessly demanded he take a shower and heat his near-frozen body up, she had hoped that her second command for his presence at dinner would be taken as an indication for him to be quick with his first task so he could complete his second. She hadn't mentioned it as of yet, but Liz was putting her foot down tonight. Once she had assured that his normal pale skin tone had returned in place of the grey blue he had walked in the door with, and that he had eaten his first solid meal in days, she was going to place a call to Shinigami and explain exactly what had been happening over the last several days. She was done watching Kid suffer, done spending endless hours trying to curb his increasing neurotic tendencies, and done with hiding the issues from his father. His pride was just going to have to take a hit. And if their friendship took a hit in the process, she would deal with that as it came.

"Patty, I'm going upstairs to check on him. I want you to call Shinigami-sama if we're not back down in ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay, sis."

Liz rose from her seat at the dining room table and ascended the stairs to the bedroom area, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach that made her feel light-headed and nearly nauseated the closer she came to Kid's room.

Something wasn't right.

Liz didn't possess any ability to read souls, but her time as Death the Kid's weapon had established a strange link between them that always seemed more prominent when they were either engaged in soul resonance or when they were in close proximity. She felt it now, like a strange second pulse that ran in sporadic off-beat to her own. It was an unconscious act when she broke into a sprint down the long hallway to his room, when she called his name out in a tone so suddenly hysterical that she didn't recognize her own voice, when she pushed her way into his private bathroom without even bothering to knock.

The sight she entered to was one that would be burned into her brain for many years of her life. Kid was huddled in the corner of the bathtub, the shower still running and the curtain pulled back to expose his painfully skinny naked back, his shoulders trembling in sobs as his hands scrubbed violently at the corner where the tiling met the ceramic tub.

"It won't come off, it won't come off why the FUCK won't it come off?"

There was a trail of water leading from the shower to the open cabinet door under the sink, and a container of cleaner and a sponge were missing from their usual homes next to the Windex bottle and the cleaning bucket. Liz threw herself across the room and climbed into the tub with him, the breath in her lungs escaping in a harsh whoosh as the frigid water from the shower hit her back and soaked her shirt instantly. She took him by the shoulders and shuddered at the feeling of his skin, cold and clammy and slippery, against her warm fingers as she hauled him away from the corner and out of the tub onto the bathroom floor.

"Enough! Kid, that's enough, stop it!"

His hands were bleeding. He had apparently been scrubbing for so long and with such a fury that he had broken the skin of his fingers, knuckles and palms open. Blood dripped onto the bathroom floor as she dragged him across the room, desperate to put distance between him and whatever offensive thing had thrown him into such a state of distress. He fought against her hold weakly, kicking his legs, his bare feet unable to find traction on the floor in their cleaning-product-and-blood-soaked state.

"Let me go! Let me go, I have to fix it! It has to be perfect! It has to be perfect or he won't want me anymore! He'll see me for piece of shit I really am!"

Liz gritted her teeth and shifted her hold on him, hooking her elbows under his armpits to give herself more balance and strength. It was only because his reaper body was so weakened from days without sleep or food that she had the upper hand at all. Had he been at full capacity, he would have been more than strong enough to break away from her without so much as a second thought. She hauled him across the large bathroom, finally coming to set him down in the threshold between the cold bathroom linoleum and the plush bedroom carpet.

"Why won't you let me fix it? Why won't you let me make it better? I have to fix it… I'm so worthless, but I have to fix what I can… I have to at least do that. I can't let him down again…"

His voice was a breathless whisper, and Liz dropped to her knees next to him, reaching out to touch his shoulder, to offer her Meister some form of comfort.

"… Kid… there's nothing there… there's nothing wrong…"

He curled himself into a protective ball in response, tucking his arms over his face, shutting his golden eyes against his tears.

"Don't look at me! You won't want me either! I'm ugly, I'm disgusting, I'm horrible, I'm a worthless excuse for a reaper! Don't look, don't look…"

There were no words she could offer that would penetrate through the state of self-loathing and grief he had put himself in. She had never known him to act this way… this was far more serious than anything she had ever dealt with concerning Kid's disorder. So Liz did the only thing she could do – she dropped to her side on the floor next to him and locked her arms around his damp, naked form, pulling his back flush against her chest. He fought weakly, but she could tell that he lacked both the physical strength and the emotional willpower to truly resist her embrace.

"Stop it. Kid, please… please, stop hurting my Meister. Stop hurting my friend. Stop hurting yourself..."

"I have to fix it… I… I have to make it better… I have to make up for before… You don't understand, Liz…"

He attempted to jerk roughly out of her arms, once, twice, three times, and each time her hold tightened even more. She could feel his heart beating against her chest, a rapid fluttering of butterfly wings that stemmed from his shoulder blades and lacked all cadence or rhythm. Her knuckles were pressed against his chest, her right hand balled into a fist and left cupping right, and she could feel the shudders of air entering and leaving his lungs in quick, shallow gasps. Liz closed her eyes and expanded her soul outward, attempting to engulf both of them in her wavelength, praying it would be taken as the comforting gesture it was meant to be.

"… Liz? Kid? What's going on?"

Liz heard Patty's voice, more soft and timid than she could ever recall her sister sounding, from somewhere out in the hallway. She lifted her head from where she had tucked it down next to Kid's shoulder to see a face peeking around the doorframe, blue eyes wide and lips pursed in concern.

"Patty… call Shinigami-sama. Now."

"No! No, don't!"

The mention of his father being contacted seemed to give Kid one last burst of energy. He thrashed in Liz's hold like a caged animal, the heels of his feet jamming into her shins while he struck out blindly with his fists, his only coherent thought that he needed to escape from her. Liz gritted her teeth against the pain and kept her arms locked around him, refusing to let him wiggle away from her.

"Patty, GO! NOW!"

By the time she gave the command, Patty had already moved. It was not, however, the move Liz had expected. She saw a flash of her sister's golden hair over the crown of Kid's head, and then her Meister's flailing fists were suddenly calmed. Liz felt Patty's bare foot against her leg and shifted to look over Kid's shoulder. Her sister lay on his other side, holding him at the wrists and cradling his fists against her chest. She had thrown one leg over his two, effectively calming his violent thrashing. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments and Liz nodded an understanding, dipping her head low and resting her forehead on Kid's naked back as she threw her own leg over both Kid's and Patty's, creating a connection between the three of them and forming a protective cocoon around her Meister. Getting him calm was the most important thing right now.

Time elapsed maddeningly slowly for Liz. At some point she heard Patty's breathing even out and deepen, signaling that she had drifted off to sleep. Kid continued to mumble to himself incoherently for what felt like forever, but the shuddering heaves that had wracked his chest finally calmed themselves and he seemed to slide down into the half-aware state of lucid dreaming, the tension in his lithe frame melting away and the waves of distress that raged across the surface of his soul ebbing down into occasional ripples of discomfort. Liz sighed quietly and closed her eyes, hesitant to fall asleep in case Kid awoke upset once more and she was unable to prevent him from hurting himself again. But she was fighting a losing battle against her exhaustion, and she knew it. If he would just fall asleep… she could get to a mirror and make the call, if he would just fall all the way asleep…

In her embrace he shifted and whimpered softly, and Liz murmured something soothing into his skin, stopping only after he calmed once more. No, leaving his side was definitely not an option. Not right now, at least. Liz opened her eyes once more and tilted her head sideways to look up at the ceiling.

'… Shinigami-sama… please… find a reason to come home soon…'

TBC


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 04**

* * *

><p>"Status report."<p>

"Shinigami-sama, I think it's time you headed home. You meant to be out of here hours ago, and we have everything handled. Kid needs you."

Shinigami sighed and reached one large hand up to rub at the forehead of his mask. Spirit had a point – he HAD meant to be out of the Death Room and at home with his son hours ago. But something had come up, as it always did, and he never felt right leaving his position when things needed attending to. It was not that he lacked faith in the abilities of his Deathscythes, or any of the employees at Shibusen… but it had been a long time since he had felt comfortable anywhere except the Death Room.

… no. That was just a convenient excuse. The cold, hard truth of the matter was that it had been a long time since he was comfortable with having any form of deep, meaningful conversation with his son. While Kid had never been a clingy child, in his younger years he had been unable to control the hysteria that came with his more intense neurotic moments, and Shinigami had always been able to step in and quell the raging ocean of fear and anxiety that washed over his son in his weaker moments. It was when Kid had come to cope with his mood swings on his own, or at the very least had learned to mask them so they seemed far less severe, that his father had begun spending more time at work and less time at Gallows Manor. Kid's psychosis had made it difficult for Shinigami to determine his son's personality and to develop a relationship with him based on that. Rather, all he had ever known of his child was the constant counting, the cleaning, the obsessing, the frustrated tears. By the time Kid's actual character had started to come out, it was after the boy had started to hide his issues and he was determined to stand on his own two feet without his father's assistance. For Shinigami, it was like being around a whole new person – a person he didn't know and didn't understand how to deal with.

So he had allowed Kid to pull back from him, burying his guilt at his inability to comprehend his son's eccentric personality in his work at Shibusen. Of course, they still communicated, and he still taught Kid the important lessons he needed to someday take his rightful place as the next Shinigami… but there was a distance that had never been there before, a distance that still existed to this day.

That was the only reason why he had delayed going home for so long. It wasn't that he didn't care – far from it, in fact. Kid had been at the forefront of his thoughts all day, making it hard to focus on the work he was so desperately attempting to bury himself in. It was a convenient excuse, a way to delay what he knew was inevitable for just a little longer so that he could take more time to work out in his own mind exactly what it was he wanted to say. Getting Kid to talk was a feat much more implausible than many people realized. If the little reaper didn't want to talk, he wouldn't, and there was little that could be done to sway him from that bad habit.

"Spirit, when you have something you need to say to Maka, how do you approach it?"

He hated asking such a complicated question of his personal weapon, especially knowing the strained relations that lie between the father and his teenage daughter. Their lack of communication was born from Maka's disdain at her father's tenacity towards cheating on his ex-wife, and there was not a single person who knew the two of them that did not have knowledge of that fact. It was also known that Spirit often felt frustrated and unable to communicate with Maka not only because she blocked him out so much, but also because talking to her was like talking to a miniature version of his ex-wife. Maka shut herself out of her father's life because she hated him for what he had done to her mother and to her family as a whole. Death the Kid refused to talk because of his fear of being viewed as anything less than the perfect son he felt he needed to be.

That was most confusing of all to Shinigami. He had spent endless hours mulling over every past conversation with his son he could recall to memory, looking for a single moment in which he had ever conveyed a need for his son to be a perfect child. He could find none, but that did not mean that Kid's obscured version of the world had not been the catalyst for his obsession with being without flaw or error. He could have easily misconstrued a single word, a single glance, a single _anything_, and that single moment could be the entire reason he lived his life the way he did.

It was not hard for anyone to worm their way into Kid's heart, but it was damned hard to be able to see past the cool, distant exterior his son put up to understand that underneath lay a creature both delicate and lonely. He had his morals, and he stuck to them relentlessly, but when those morals clashed with the actions of someone he cared for, Shinigami knew that delivering justice was the hardest thing Kid had to do. What motivated him to complete all tasks set before him was the burning need for not only his father's approval, but to be viewed as the perfect future God of Death and the current perfect son in his father's eyes. His morals were born of his father's teachings and his father's expectations. That was a glaringly obvious fact.

What wounded Shinigami above all else was that, in his eyes, Kid _was_ perfect. He was a kind-hearted young Grim Reaper who loved more freely than anyone realized and cared deeper than he was ever willing to admit. And he wanted Kid to know that, wanted to both say it and show it, but how could he express something so intimate and so important when he couldn't even have a conversation with his son that did not pertain to his future duties as Grim Reaper?

Spirit shifted his feet nervously and Shinigami felt even worse for bringing the subject up. He could not reach out to his daughter because she did not want to be sought, and therein lay the difference in their situations. A girl who did not want her father's attention, and was not afraid to make that fact glaringly obvious.

"As directly as I can, I guess. Maka doesn't listen to me unless it's something important. She's a lot like her mother – she doesn't have time to listen to a bunch of word padding. She likes to get straight to the point and address the issues so she can move on. I don't know much about Kid, but I'm assuming your question came up in regards to him."

Shinigami nodded slowly and was aware of the heat that radiated through his mask and tinged the area just below his circular eyes a slight rose color. He was a Grim Reaper, the controller of death and the being responsible for transitioning souls to the nexus of worlds, and yet he was painfully unable to assess how to handle his son. There was a saying about cleaning up your own backyard before cleaning up an entire neighborhood, and that was how he felt now. Like he had been so busy cleaning up the community that was the world that he had neglected the single backyard that was his own family of two (well, four. He couldn't leave out Liz and Patty, after all).

"Sometimes, Maka will open up to me about her friends. She's brought Kid up in a few conversations, and while most of those conversations center on his… quirky personality… she has mentioned that she appreciates that Kid has a quiet, stable soul that she can relate to. He's easy to talk to if approached slowly and a bit delicately, is the implication I get. In fact, he likes to engage in conversation with her, and the other kids. I think it makes him feel less alone. Maybe that's what you need to do – approach him delicately. Make it clear to him from the get-go that it's okay for him to be a little… insecure."

"You don't have to sugar-coat his disorder, Spirit. He doesn't, and he doesn't expect anyone else to either. It's part of who he is."

"Will all due respect, Sir, if Maka had a condition like Kid's, I would find it offensive if someone stated it so bluntly. It would be a part of Maka, but she's still my daughter. And knowing that she, or anyone else, for that matter, viewed herself as anything less than perfect in my eyes would be unacceptable to me. It's a quirk, and it's part of what makes you love your son. I understand that."

Spirit was right. Maybe that was what had caused Kid's intense fears of allowing that dark part of himself to come out when he was around his father. Kid was a boy who wanted his father's attention but feared that it would come in his darkest moment, in an hour of need he perceived was undeserved.

Neither of their situations with their children were easy, and they were both smart enough to know they never would be. But Shinigami prayed that they were both salvageable, if nothing else.

"You're right. Thanks, friend. I can always count on you to do your best!"

"One last thing, Sir, if I may."

"Of course."

"Drop the act around your son. We all appreciate that you feel the need to put on a bright, cheery face for the rest of the world and act carefree and friendly so as not to intimidate those around you, but Kid is your son. He loves you for who you are and does not harbor fear at the fact that you are the God of Death. If anything, that is what he admires most about you. So let that part of you be more prominent around him. If you show him what you are afraid to show the rest of the world, I have a feeling he'll follow suit and drop his guard as well. Don't detach who you are from your son. The future Grim Reaper doesn't need that front like the rest of us do."

There was something admirable not only in Spirit's ability to be observant when the occasion called for it, but also in his bravery at making such a bold statement. Shinigami had to appreciate that. He waved a friendly hand at Spirit and turned to go.

"Shinigami-sama, wait! You have an emergency call at your mirror!"

Marie's voice reached him just as he was stepping out of the Death Room, and he would have missed it had she not come running towards him, her boots clicking loudly against the floor.

"Stein will need to take it. I need to go home and see Kid."

"But Sir, it's about –"

She didn't have to finish her sentence. Even if she had attempted to, the scream of anguish that broke through the quiet calm of the Death Room would have drown out anything she had to say. Through the tiny, circular mirror that was undoubtedly a makeup compact that linked the Death Room to Gallows Manor, Shinigami could feel a sudden soul wavelength of fear rush across the surface of his own soul as it lay as a protective blanket over Death City.

"… Kid…"

That screaming belonged to his son. There was no doubt in his mind, and the noise grew louder and more panicked as he approached, finding Liz's tear-streaked face staring back at him.

"Lord Death! Please come home, we need you here _now_!"

Something shattered in the background and she winced, dropping the compact to the floor. The small circle blurred and bounced until it came to lie still, giving Shinigami a view of the open door that led to his son's private bathroom. The room was vacant, but the sounds of incoherent shouting and unseen items being tossed around came through the link loud and clear.

"Shut the link! Shut it NOW!"

His voice was a hoarse roar and next to him Marie jumped, reaching a shaking hand out to run her fingers across the mirror's surface. The connection was cut and Shinigami took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever it was he came home to. He had been hoping for just a little more time, a calming walk home through his city in which he could contemplate Spirit's words and mull over what he wanted to say to his son before he arrived home.

That was no longer an option. There was no time now.

He opened a link to the mirror in his own bathroom, knowing that no matter what was going on in the house that it would be untouched and could still be used as a transport between himself and the house. Without paying his Deathscythes even a parting glance he passed through the portal, knowing his silence would convey his wishes that they simply do the best they could in his absence. Then he was gone, the link was broken, and the face of the Death Room mirror was black and silent once more.

* * *

><p>He could hear the pandemonium the moment he entered the house. There was a cacophony of voices that rose from the kitchen mixed with the sound of dishes breaking and other household items being turned upside down, and Shinigami raced out of his nearly-unused bedroom, down the elaborate flight of stairs, and through the dining room into the kitchen.<p>

The sight he came upon stole the motion from his muscles and for several moments he could only stand in shocked silence, taking the unfolding events in and storing them away in his memory for future nightmares.

Kid was posed on the countertop, dressed sloppily in a pair of torn black pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved white turtleneck marked with stains. His hair was an unkempt mess, and the sallow look of his face and the way his clouded golden eyes sunk into his skull spoke of days of self-mistreatment. He was thin as a rail, pale as a ghost, and under the fabric of his usual sleeper shirt his shoulders were hunched upward, bony and defined. Like a cornered wild animal his eyes darted back and forth between Liz and Patty, both of which who stood several feet away, planted firmly on the kitchen's floor rather than on the counter. Clutched in his hand was what appeared to be a putty knife, and Shinigami's heart leapt into his throat as he took in the sight of the small cuts and abrasions on his son's bare feet and hands.

'Oh Kami-sama, please… please tell me he didn't…'

"Kid, please come down! Put the putty knife down, it's alright!"

"No, it's NOT alright! It has to be perfect, don't you understand that? You called him home, and you won't even let me make sure everything is perfect! Do you _want_ him to see what a failure he has for a son?"

"Kid, there's nothing there! There's no spot on the shower tile! There is _nothing wrong_! And even if there was, he wouldn't care! He doesn't weight your worth based on a spot on a wall!"

… that was it? That was what was causing so much of an uproar in his home and such disturbing behavior from his son? A spot on the wall?

No, of course that wasn't it. A single spot on the wall could not be causing such a deterioration in his son's mental state. It had to be something else, something deeper, something Kid would not talk about but would instead bury beneath the familiarity and comfort of his disorder.

"I have to make it right! It's the only thing I _can_ make right! I couldn't save him, I couldn't even _help_ _him_ in his fight against Asura! If he had died, it would have been _my fault, all my fault_! Don't you understand that? What kind of Grim Reaper will I be if I can't even keep my father's home perfect, let alone help him defeat a Kishin?"

Shinigami gasped. It was a noise barely audible to his own ears, but somehow it managed to draw all the attention in the room to him. Where noise had chaos had dominated moments before, now suddenly there was a silence that was broken only by Kid's increasingly sporadic breathing and the sound of the putty knife dropping from his hands. His son looked so small and vulnerable, collapsed against the cabinets, his golden eyes filling with tears, a look of anguish on his usually-composed face.

He moved without thinking. As though propelled by a notion not his own, Shinigami crossed the room and approached his son with frightening speed. Kid barely had time to blink before a pair of hands reached out from under his father's cloak, a pair of hands that looked strikingly human and much like a larger version of his own. Those hands wrapped themselves firmly but gently around Kid's thin upper arms and he was suddenly off his feet, off the counter and under the bundle of black fabric. Shinigami turned and vacated the room with the same desperate speed he had shown moments before, his cloak making no noise as it brushed against the smooth linoleum of the kitchen floor, through the dining room, and up the stairs to the bedrooms.

Liz and Patty were left alone together in the lingering silence.

TBC


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 05**

* * *

><p>Liz wasn't sure how it happened. It had been so quiet before. The only noises that had reached her ears were the ticking of the hallway clock, the dripping of water off the shower head in Kid's bathroom, and the combined breathing of her Meister and her sister as they slept, their chests rising and falling in perfect synchronization. She had been acutely aware of the ripples of discomfort and disquiet that had rippled across the surface of Kid's soul, affecting her own through the link they shared. It had caused Patty to stir as well, grunting and whining in her sleep like a puppy as she moved closer to Kid.<p>

They had lay on the floor for what felt like hours. Eventually Liz's clothes had dried off and Kid's naked form had lost that cold, clammy, slippery feeling she could still sense on the tips of her fingers and returned to a more normal temperature. The carpet, plush as it was, had started to lose its comforting cushioning on her hip and she had shifted, wincing as something hard dug into her leg.

'… my compact…'

There was a mirror in her compact. Thinking about it, she had felt like an idiot for not remembering it sooner. She had attempted a few times to slip away from Kid's side to get to a mirror, but each time it was as though he could read her intentions and he had stirred, grasping onto her hands or begging for her to stay with him. She couldn't deny a request from her Meister, even if in the end it would benefit him more to see his father than it would for him to lay naked on the floor, curled up between his weapons.

There had been only one chance to make her move. If she couldn't reach it under the guise of shifting position to make herself more comfortable, there was no way she could go for it a second time. It would seem too suspicious, and already she was aware that Kid was tuned into her every move, monitoring everything she did after making her intentions of calling his father blatantly clear the first time. Liz made a noise of obvious discomfort, slipping one arm away from where it was cradled against Kid's chest as though she were attempting to merely make herself more at ease and nothing more. She slid downward, making sure to grind her pocket into the floor to make her movements work with her in shimmying the small green foundation compact out from where it was buried at the bottom of her jean pocket.

How well her method had worked had come as a complete shock. She had figured that she would need to wiggle around a bit more to achieve her goal, but as though some unseen force was working with her, the compact slid out of her pocket and onto the carpeted floor effortlessly. Her hand slipped down between their bodies, pretending to adjust her shirt as her fingers slid out and scooped the plastic case into her palm. She then rolled onto her back, making sure to keep the arm still pinned under Kid's body and curled against his chest where it was, and clutched her fist against her stomach.

And then she had waited for the dust to settle.

Liz had counted the ticking of the clock in the hallway, muttered each number without sound under her breath, pressed her hand against Kid's chest and felt his heartbeat slowly return to normal and his respirations even out as he slipped back into a state of lucid dreaming. Her fingers shifted, compressing the small latch that held the compact shut, feeling it spring open in her hand.

'Okay. Step one complete. Now… I need to cloud up the surface of the mirror so I can write the numbers…'

For a long moment she faltered, her mind turning over and over again as she struggled to figure out how to dirty the mirror without calling too much attention to herself. Breathing on it would make too much noise and require too much movement, and the condensation wouldn't hold long enough for her to input the numbers one-handed.

'Think, THINK…'

She was just reaching the moment of panic when her pointer finger brushed against the packed powder in the compact, and if she had had both hands free she would have slapped herself in the forehead for not immediately remembering why the damn thing had a mirror in the first place. Applying a slight amount of pressure, she shifted her fingers around in a circular motion, waiting until she felt the soft powder break up into chunks before moving to rub her fingertips against the smooth surface of the mirror.

'Let it be enough, please let it be enough…'

There was the very soft sound of her nail scraping across the reflective surface as she etched in the numbers as small as possible, praying she was recalling them correctly and wasn't running them together too closely.

"42-42-564, whenever you want to knock on Death's Door.."

She had to say the words out loud, even in just a whisper, and prayed it had not stirred Kid as she mouthed the incantation and knocked on the compact with her knuckle. For a moment all was silent, and then a shaft of bright light shot out of her compact, a beam that reached the ceiling and cast multi-colored shadows across the rough surface her eyes had been focused on for what felt like hours now.

"Death Room, Marie speaking!"

Her hands were shaking as she lifted the compact up, her eyes meeting with Marie's a moment later.

"Marie, put Shinigami-sama on. It's important."

"NO!"

Kid's voice was an explosion in the silence, and within a split-second he was out of the tight grasp Patty had on him and had moved to his feet, staring down at Liz with a look that was very much shock mixed with betrayal.

"How could you? _How could you_? You know how busy father is, how could you interrupt him? And I haven't had time enough to clean the house either! Everything is an asymmetrical mess, I'll never have time to clean it up now! Don't you understand that? How could you… how…"

And then he screamed. It was a noise born of anguish and fury, and Liz fought the urge to press her hands over her ears to drown out the noise. Kid escaped into the safety of his bathroom, slamming the door shut behind himself, and Liz rose to her feet on shaking legs and slammed into the door, pounding on it with her fist.

"Kid, what are you doing? Kid, _please_ come out! Don't do this!"

There were voices shouting out from the mirror of her compact, and Liz realized she had tears streaming down her face as finally Shinigami came into view.

"Lord Death! Please come home, we need you here _now_!"

There was the sound of glass shattering in the bathroom and Liz abandoned the compact on the floor, hoping the gravity of the situation had been conveyed and Shinigami would come home immediately. She raised both hands and curled them into fists, pounding them on the door as she screamed Kid's name over and over again.

"Kid? KID? Open the damn door, or I swear I'll find something to break it open with myself!"

She gave him ten seconds to answer, and when he hadn't, she grabbed the first thing she could find in the hallway – a chair – and lifted it high above her head, bringing one of the sturdy legs down on the doorknob. There was a loud cracking noise that resounded through the house, and Liz hefted the large object above her head once more and repeated the action, feeling the chair shudder in her hands and send shockwaves of pain down her wrists as it connected with the knob once more. The wood around the knob splintered and she drew up all the strength she could, bringing the chair down once more. The knob broke down through the cracks in the wood, sending splinters flying, and she tossed the heavy object aside and jerked on the knob until it came out entirely and she was able to shove the door open.

"Kid?"

She was not surprised to find him in the bathtub yet again, bent over the same spot, using what looked like a putty knife to dig away at the tiling on the wall. The mirror above the sink was shattered and shards of glass lay strewn across the floor, and Liz could see where fresh cuts lined Kid's knuckles and dripped blood off his shaking fingers onto the white ceramic of the bathtub.

"Kid! Kid, stop it! That's enough, stop! Can't you see there's _nothing there_?"

When had he gotten dressed? It took her a moment to realize it, but as she began a slow trek across the room, careful to avoid stepping on glass, she realized he was wearing a long-sleeved white turtleneck and black sleeper pants. She knew there had been no clean clothes in the bathroom, which led her to believe that he had taken them out of the laundry basket in his haste to get dressed and get back to his obsessive task.

"Don't come near me! There is something there, there _is_! You just can't see it because you aren't looking! But _He_ will see it, and I have to make it right before it does!"

Liz gritted her teeth against the harsh reply that rose in the back of her throat and took another cautious step forward, trying to keep her eyes focused on her Meister while searching for mirror shards with her peripheral vision.

"_Stay away from me!_"

Kid was out of the bathtub and had rushed passed her before she could blink. Liz cursed under her breath and turned on her heel, following close behind him as he ran down the stairs, nearly losing his balance as his bloody feet hit the wood floor of the entryway, and ran through the dining room into the kitchen. He stopped short as he entered the large kitchen and realized that Patty was standing in waiting, having assumed that he would attempt escape through the back doorway and already prepared to block his way. His eyes shifted from where Patty stood with her arms crossed to Liz, who had stopped short just inside the kitchen doorway and was keeping her distance, her arms raised in surrender.

"… Kid… Kid, come on… let me fix you up, your dad will be home soon…"

"No thanks to you!"

She winced at the malice in his tone and attempted to approach him, backing up once more when her Meister responded by jumping up onto the counter, crouching down like a cornered animal ready to strike. It was apparent that he was attempting to regain control over a situation he had never had control over to begin with, and for the moment it was best that Liz give him that sense of security.

"Kid, please come down! Put the putty knife down, it's alright!"

She tried to make her voice soothing and calm, but was unable to keep the panic that churned in her stomach and made her feel nauseated from reflecting in her tone.

"No, it's NOT alright! It has to be perfect, don't you understand that? You called him home, and you won't even let me make sure everything is perfect! Do you _want_ him to see what a failure he has for a son?"

He was in a completely irrational state of mind. His eyes were unfocused and darted back and forth between Liz and Patty, and every muscle in his body was taunt and tight as though he were ready at any moment to make a run for it if he had to. The putty knife shook in his grip and Liz eyed it warily, praying that she knew him well enough to know he would never use it as a weapon against them but unable to rule it out as a possibility after too many years spent living on the streets.

"Kid, there's nothing there! There's no spot on the shower tile! There is _nothing wrong_! And even if there was, he wouldn't care! He doesn't weight your worth based on a spot on a wall!"

Logic was useless at this point and she knew it, but she was unable to put herself in that mind frame she was usually in whenever she dealt with Kid and one of his episodes. Nothing she had said or done over the past few days in which this had all started had gotten through to him, and logic felt as though it were the last ditch effort she had available to her. She felt bad now, for breaking that trust that had taken so long for him to establish. Even if having his father here to fix everything would be best in the end, it did not erase the fact that in this moment there was nothing she could do to remove the look of anguish and betray that was on his face. The look she had put there. She watched as tears built in the corners of his eyes, though not a single one escaped when he blinked and focused his gaze on her once more.

"I have to make it right! It's the only thing I _can_ make right! I couldn't save him, I couldn't even _help_ _him_ in his fight against Asura! If he had died, it would have been _my fault, all my fault_! Don't you understand that? What kind of Grim Reaper will I be if I can't even keep my father's home perfect, let alone help him defeat a Kishin?"

… was that what this entire thing had been about? Had all his recent emotional issues, his refusal to eat or sleep, his increased obsession with everything needing to be perfect, all been born from the fight with Asura?

Liz had the sudden urge to hold him. She wanted to pull him close and stroke his messy hair down, wanted to tell him that it was alright, that he had fought the one of the most dangerous Kishins in history and had managed to aid in his defeat. Why couldn't Kid see the beauty in the fact that he had stepped up when he was needed most and fulfilled his role as the next God of Death, and his father was proud of him for that?

There was a sudden gasp behind Liz, nearly directly over her shoulder, and her body grew rigid for one moment before her soul felt a familiar ripple across its surface and she relaxed, looking over her shoulder at the God of Death. She was unable to tear her eyes away from his mask, even as he was unable to tear his eyes away from his son. She heard Kid's breathing grow increasingly more panicked and distantly registered the sound of the putty knife clanging against the floor, and all she could do was close her eyes as a gust of wind tossed her hair off her shoulders as Shinigami flew past her. She didn't have to see him to know he had lifted Kid from the countertop and had moved by her yet again, undoubtedly on his way to finding a place more private.

The silence that settled around her following their departure was calm, the tension in the room easing up now that Kid was finally where he needed to be. Liz was content to allow all her energy to escape her in a rush and her legs buckled out from under her, dropping her to the kitchen floor on her hip.

'… please… just… just fix it. Just make Kid better. Please, Shinigami-sama…'

* * *

><p>At some point, Shinigami had simply given up on counting the minutes in which his son cried. By the time he had carried Kid up the stairs and into the comfort and privacy of his bedroom and laid them both down on the bed, his son's lithe body had been quaking violently in uncontrollable sobs. He had wanted to talk to Kid, to make him understand that he had done nothing wrong, that intervention in his fight against the Kishin would have resulted in far more damaging results than what had played out. But the ripples of guilt, fear and hysteria that rolled in intense waves across Kid's soul told his father that now was not the time for words. So he pushed aside his own need to communicate verbally and instead curled himself around his son's trembling form, whispering strings of sounds and half-words that meant nothing sensible but would soothe Kid's damaged psyche back into some form of working order.<p>

It had been a long time since he had had any physical contact with his child, and he couldn't help but marvel at how soft Kid's hair was under his fingers, how supple his skin was against the palm of his hand. There was something frightening about just how frail and small his son felt crushed against his chest, something disturbing about just how tiny Kid's fists were as they twisted up the fabric of the black suit jacket Shinigami wore under his token cloak. Had Death the Kid always been so little, and he had just never noticed, or was this the result of several days of his son bellying his self-imposed guilt and neglecting himself as a result?

Shinigami let Kid wear himself out. There was nothing else to do, and once the sobs had finally calmed down to the occasional sniffle and hiccup, Shinigami dared to rise, picking his son up and carrying him out of the bedroom and down the hall towards the bathroom Liz and Patty shared.

"Let's get your hands and feel cleaned up…"

He spoke quietly, dropping the childish tone he usually projected when he spoke and adopting instead a tone more suiting a father, a deeper voice that rumbled in his chest and brought Kid a strange sense of comfort as he rested his head on his father's shoulder. He did not object as his father closed the door and set him down on the toilet lid, turning away momentarily to sort through the medicine cabinet in search of antiseptic and band-aids.

"Father, I am a reaper… my body will heal on its own."

"Usually that's true. However, given the way you've been treating yourself recently, your body's natural healing process is slowed. This will help speed up the process. So will a good meal and some sleep. And a talk with your old man wouldn't hurt, either."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"I would beg to differ, Kid."

Shinigami was careful to keep his voice gentle but firm, making it clear to his son that he was not angry, but this discussion was not up for debate. True to Kid's always-striving-to-please personality he simply nodded and bowed his head, accepting his father's words as law and resigning himself to following them. His father could feel the ripples of discomfort that danced quietly across Kid's soul, though the expression on his face remained passive. For the moment the elder Grim Reaper focused on tending to his son's minor wounds, cleaning them out with hydrogen peroxide before applying a healing ointment and wrapping them carefully. He hadn't used his regular hands in what felt like years, nor had he removed his mask unless he was alone, and he could feel his son's eyes examining his face as he worked.

"… I always…"

Kid began to speak, slowly and quietly, but instantly clammed back up when his father's attention shifted, his golden eyes moving to meet his son's.

"Go ahead, Kid."

Kid shook his head and wrung his recently-bandaged hands in his lap, the look on his face reflecting hesitance and trepidation.

"It's inappropriate."

"I would like to know anyway, if you wouldn't mind."

"… well… I… I know that when I was a child that you wouldn't wear your mask and cloak around me at home because I didn't like them. I liked seeing you. And then, one day… you just stopped taking them off when you came home. Or, I guess… maybe… you just stopped coming home as much. And I always figured that maybe… maybe you covered yourself up because I… because…"

He trailed off again and Shinigami reached out tentatively, placing a hand over his son's.

"It's alright, Kid. You can tell me."

"… I just figured that you were… ashamed that I look so much like you. Because, well… I'm sure it's not… not easy to have a son like me."

Shinigami had feared the conversation was heading in that direction. Looking back on it, he wished that he had done more to communicate to his son that it was okay that he was the way he was, that his disorder was part of his personality and nothing more. And had that failed to curb the damage that Kid's neuroticism had on his self-esteem… well, he would have found a therapist, and he would have made damn sure his son was made to understand that he was fine just the way he was. That his father loved him no matter how strange his personality was.

He felt as though he had somehow failed his son. That this all could have been prevented if he had simply not allowed his child to break away and handle things on his own. He should have been there, but Kid had been so insistent when he had told his father that he wanted to be self-sufficient, and talking to Kid had always been like talking to a miniature adult. It was hard to deny Kid what he wanted when his argument made logical sense, and as long as he wasn't trapped in one of his OCD moments, it usually did.

"Kid, I want you to understand something. And I want you to look at me, because I am only going to say this once."

Kid begrudgingly forced himself to raise his head to meet his father's eyes. It was only in these moments in which his son feared he was going to be lectured or scolding for doing something he perceived as wrong that he acted his age. He was fifteen and frightened, unable to make eye contact and unwilling to argue his case. Perhaps that was what was more painful than anything else – that Kid would simply take being told he had done something wrong without stopping to consider if he had actually committed a crime. In his mind, if his father had an issue with it, it was wrong by default. That was the way it was.

"I want you to know that I am not ashamed of you, and I never have been. First off, I knew you would grow up to look like me, because you came from me. Me, and no one but me. You are a direct product of me, Kid. That's why Death the Kid is the only name suiting for you. Second off, you've done nothing to warrant me being ashamed of you or the fact that you are my son."

"… but, I have –"

"I know, Kid. I know what you have. And it doesn't matter. And it may be a disorder, but it doesn't hinder you. It defines you. It's part of your personality, and a part of your personality that makes you a very unique, defined individual. I know that, at times, your disorder gives you problems. I know it's hard for you to focus, and I know you lose sleep some nights trying to make things perfect. But in the end, when it matters most, you're able to put that aside. You focus on what's important and you step up to the role of a Grim Reaper. What father wouldn't be proud to have a son like you?"

He paused, giving Kid time to answer. His son had dropped his head again and his cheeks had taken on a slightly rosy tint, a sure sign that he was carefully absorbing and digesting his father's words. After several moments of lingering silence, Shinigami continued.

"I want you to understand something, Kid. There was nothing you could have done to prevent what happened to me during the fight wish Asura. It was a fight that the two of us had to settle, and it had nothing to do with you. And the fact that he made you a part of it was low and underhanded and something that Kishins are prone to doing. If anything, I'm thankful things turned out the way they did. It's a lesson you had to learn. You had to come to understand that Kishins will try anything to gain victory. It's something you'll have to watch out for when it comes to the people in your life you are closest to. But it wasn't your fault, and it was nothing you could control. So whatever guilt you're feeling now, you need to let it go."

Kid sniffled in reply and wiped at his eyes with one bandaged hand as the other clenched his pants in a tight fist. Shinigami reached up to place his hand over the one that rubbed itself roughly across his son's eyes, coaxing him to return it to where it had rested in his lap.

"It's alright to be upset, Kid."

"You… you don't understand, dad…"

"Then you have to explain it to me."

Was that proper parenting etiquette? Was he supposed to ask his son how he felt, or be able to just blindly assume? Was it a weakness to not know everything? It felt as though it had been so long since he had been a father to his son rather than a friend or an equal that he was lost on what to say or how to approach the situation. The fact that Kid was finally starting to open up to him on his own accord was a good sign, and Shinigami settled back on his heels and looked up at his child, quietly waiting for him to continue.

"Can't you see that it was all my fault? Don't you understand that? This never would have happened if I had just trusted you. If I had just taken your word as truth and believed that you had the best benefits of Shibusen in mind, rather than doubting every move you made, this could have been prevented. I know that."

"How? How could your blind trust in me have changed a single thing that conspired?"

Kid opened his mouth to explain, and Shinigami silently prepped himself for the answer, for something that would prove Kid's theory right, something he couldn't rebut and would ultimately put an even deeper rift between them.

Nothing came. Kid closed his mouth and sighed in frustration, then opened his mouth again.

"I… I just know it has to have been my fault. If I had cooperated with you…"

"You did. Even if you didn't understand, even if you attempted your own methods of investigation, it doesn't change the fact that every task I set before you was completed. Even though you followed your own morals, which I want you to do anyway, in the end you respected me as your father and as Shinigami and you did as asked of you. When I asked for the magic tools, you retrieved them for me. When I asked you to fight in the battle for Brew at Lost Island, you did so. Whether you doubted my requests or not, it does not change the fact that you carried them out. So even if you hadn't doubted me, and had done everything asked of you, the end result would have still been the same. Except it was even better this way, because now I see that you have a strong sense of right and wrong and you have the capacity to follow that sense, even if it means a conflict between yourself and someone close to you. Don't you see how important that is for a Reaper to be able to do?"

Frustration flittered across Kid's face and his fists clenched tighter in his pants. Shinigami rubbed soothing circles on his son's arm, trying to coax more information from him without requesting it verbally.

"… I guess I don't understand… why you don't see me as the scum I am. I'm Reaper trash, I'm garbage, I'm worthless… I can't even keep the house clean, let alone protect you when it matters most…"

"Son, I think that what would be best for you right now is some therapy. Because it hurts me when you say things like this about yourself. Truth be told, you needed therapy years ago. There's nothing wrong with you, and I wish you could see that. I don't know where this need to blame yourself for everything came from, but it's not healthy, and it's something I'm afraid is going to make it hard for you once I… once you become the next Shinigami. I'm sure my parenting has something to do with this. I know I haven't been around as much as I could be, and I'm sorry for that."

"You have a busy job, father. I understand that."

"You are my son. You should be my first job, and I've forgotten that over the years. I guess that's the unfortunate side-effect of having such a strong-minded and self-sufficient child."

It was odd, being so serious. Shinigami had spent so long hiding every emotion he felt behind a cheery voice and a comical mask that having to be convey any feeling other than extreme joy or extreme anger was actually rather exhausting. He was thankful that Kid was the one who was bearing witness to this strange shift in personality. Had it been anyone else, he was fairly sure they would be unable to handle such a change. But he had been like this at one point, when Kid was much younger and his disorder was out of his son's control, and perhaps that was what made it easier to go back to that state of mind. What made it so hard was seeing Kid in a state of mind he hadn't witnessed his son experience in years.

"… does therapy mean there's something wrong with me?"

"No. It means that you have things you can't deal with on your own, that's all. Truth be told, after eight hundred years of this job, maybe I would benefit from a little therapy of my own."

"And everything's alright?"

Shinigami recalled a time, years ago, when Kid was much, much younger. Six, maybe seven at best. He remembered his son's emotional distress at the asymmetric arrangement of how the pots and pans were hung in the kitchen. Kid had cried and screamed for hours, struggling to find the words needed to express what was making him so upset but unable to convey it in terms his father could understand. Finally he had allowed Kid to simply show him what was wrong, had lifted his small child up in one arm and used his free hand to assist his son in organizing things to his liking. It had calmed the Little Reaper down straightaway and he had finally stopped crying, the splotchy redness that had covered his cheeks dying back down to the pale grey tone his skin was supposed to be. And when they had been done, Kid had turned to his father with his tiny hands clasped together in front of him staring up at him with wide, golden eyes, and asked if everything was alright. And Shinigami had told him that yes, everything was alright, because even though that episode had been the worst yet and it had scared the Reaper more than he would ever admit, things were alright. Because his son was happy, and that was all that mattered. The rest would fall into place as it was supposed to.

"Yes, son. For now, everything is alright."

Shinigami swore that once Kid had eaten, slept, and regained his strength, he was going to make sure thing stayed alright.

Contentment pulsated from Kid's soul and rippled across the link they shared. For the first time in what felt like forever, it felt to him as though things really were alright. And that was enough for now.

TBC


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

><p>Apologies had never been Kid's strong suit. Liz and Patty had been less than amused with his conduct two nights ago, and Liz was definitely more wounded than Patty, but one of the things that had drawn him to her was that under her rough exterior, she was a more forgiving soul than she was willing to let on to. Kid was convinced that, given some time (and a few new beauty products. Never let it be said Death was not above committing an act of bribery), she would come to grant him the forgiveness he desperately sought. And a few weeks later, his hunch was correct. Liz forgave him, and life at Gallows Manor returned to the chaotic balance it had come to live with since the Thompson sisters had moved in. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.<p>

Sleep had done him more good than he ever thought it could. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept for so long, but when he had awoken, it had been to a burning hunger in his stomach that was sated only after he consumed six fried eggs, four pieces of toast, half a pack of bacon, and nearly a gallon of orange juice. By mid-afternoon the superficial cuts and scrapes on his hands and feet were healed, and by the time he laid down that night, the ache of fractured ribs that had burned in his side since the fight with Asura was finally gone.

After that night, his father had started to come home much more often than before. Work was still a high priority, and there were still nights when the table was set for four and only saw the company of three, but the effort was there and Kid appreciated it more than he could ever hope to verbally express. They communicated more now, and though Shinigami was still prone to falling into his prior habit of false cheer and Kid found it hard to express himself at times, they were making progress. And that was enough as well.

It was strange for Liz and Patty to see their Meister's father seated with them in the den area, munching on a bowl of popcorn or drinking a cup of tea, his exaggerated glove hands and mask set aside and the hood of his cloak down to expose a face that nearly mirrored Kid's to perfection. Only his more chiseled, adult features and the completion of the lines of Sanzu in his graying hair stood as contrast to the looks of his son, and Liz couldn't help but admit to herself, once she was able to stop staring at Shinigami long enough to actually examine him, that Kid would grow up to be a handsome man.

"Kid, I feel that it would be best if we started at the beginning of your obsessive-compulsive issues and worked our way forward. Oftentimes, the best way to solve an issue is to figure out where it stems from…"

Therapy was still an idea both foreign and frightening to him, but he was giving it a try. The therapist had allowed him to dance around his issues for the first two sessions, and finally had insisted that nothing was going to get done if he filled the silence with useless information and comments on how her bookshelves needed a serious rearranging.

He had been unable to find the root to his issues, but he was at least able to remember the first time something asymmetrical had bothered him, and the core feelings that had come along with it. It wasn't the source, but it was the best he could do, and it was certainly better than nothing. So far it felt as though therapy was doing nothing to help curb his obsessive-compulsive tendencies, but he had to admit that talking to someone about them made his episodes easier to deal with. Kid would never be free from his disorder, and medication was out of the question (both a personal choice and a result of his Reaper body's metabolism), but he felt less alone when he talked about it, and that helped more than she would ever know. For the first time in his life, he was able to view the world through eyes that did not perceive every mishap and every imperfection as being a fault of his own, and that fact made it a lot easier to sleep at night. He would never be able to walk by a disorganized bookshelf without fixing it, or at least harboring a strong desire to do so, but symmetry was no longer the beginning and the end of existence.

And that, too, was enough.

**OWARI**

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><p><strong>AN: Big, BIG thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, watched, and favorited my first Soul Eater fanfiction! If not for your dedication to the fandom, fanfiction would never be written or shared throughout the world :) I know that November was slow-going as far as updates, and I apologize. NaNoWriMo ate up more time than I thought it would, but Hour of Need is finally completed!<strong>

**Love and Peace!**

**Yours respectfully,**

**Sahra**


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